Ice and Wind
by takethetardis97
Summary: Mycroft Holmes visits his younger sister in the Sherrinford Institute.
1. Chapter 1

Swaying like an apparition behind a thick pane of icy glass was a tall, emaciated young girl with two eyes void of any spark, and a grin riddled with malice. The young lady was currently trying to make sense the heavy silence that hung in the air between her and the man on the other side of the glass, the elder of whom was attempting to meet her eyes with a look she had learned to interpret as expectancy.

 _Emotional context_ , she remembered, almost frustratedly. Even despite the sheer magnitude of her intellect, she could never seem to comprehend this aspect of human interaction, one which most others regarded with great, and perhaps the utmost, importance.

"Well?" the young bureaucrat broke the silence with a tone that seemed to suggest that she was an idiot. The implication nearly caused her to chuckle aloud, for through her transparent prison she saw a man who was just as imbecilic as the rest: despite the way he always seemed to boast otherwise.

"Were you making an effort to elicit a particular response?" she queried, entirely confused yet without the slightest flicker of interest visible in her eyes. The young man sighed, beginning to pace in that posh way he did whenever he tried to talk down to her. She figured she might be angry at this, if only she understood anger like the others, and perhaps also if the idea were not so laughable in itself.

"I was _making an effort_ to wish you a happy birthday, sister mine."

Eurus allowed for her brother's statement to drive her deeper into confusion, as it did every year when he'd utter those words, two words that the others were all so fond of.

" _Happy_ ," she repeated flatly, allowing the essence of the word to dance across her tongue, only to have a taste like sand fill her mouth, "Today I woke up over there, in that bed, as I do every morning. I will read what books I am given, play my violin, stare at the walls, and go to sleep, just as I have done every day. I must apologize again, brother, as I am unaware what has changed. Why is it you say that today is _happy?_ "

Mycroft's eyes darkened and fell, his mouth became fashioned with the corners pointing downward, his sparse eyebrows furrowing. If she was remembering correctly, this expression was sadness. Why should her brother be sad?

"It's just something people say, Eurus," he explained, no longer meeting her eye, but instead looking next to her, as if speaking unconsciously to someone else: someone who actually understood.

"Curious," the girl replied, considering his explanation before choosing a new subject, "So Mummy and Daddy didn't chose to come along this time? As a matter of fact, they haven't been visiting for a while now." At this, Mycroft bit his lip in a rare display of discomfort. He unconsciously ran a thin-fingered hand through his mousy-brown hair before attempting a response.

"I'm sorry, Eurus," he spoke softly, allowing his sister to deduce the rest. She nodded without any indication of anger or sorrow.

"That's clever, brother. How did I die?" she inquired, a rare flash of intrigue faint in her blue eyes. He seemed surprised by her response. She didn't know why he should be.

"A fire," he answered back, seemingly treating the situation with a lot more gravity than his sister was. She imagined the story her brother had fed her parents, finding herself rather disappointed by the thought.

"It's not your best work," she countered, considering the all of the other ways she could have more likely perished. She couldn't explain the warm feeling in her chest, or the elevation of her heart rate, or the smile that threatened her lips at these thoughts. Perhaps it would be a happy birthday after all.

"You're looking thin," her brother spoke up suddenly, closely studying her sharp cheekbones and her bony extremities, "How often are they feeding you?" Eurus tilted her head slightly in response.

"They bring food several times a day," she replied, without feeling the need for deception, "Eating is rather dull though, isn't it? I usually don't bother with the whole thing." He seemed severely disappointed by this response.

"I see. You too, then? I really don't understand the both of you, _not eating_ ," the man sighed, folding his arms and watching the subtle change in Eurus's face at the vague reference to the other Holmes, "A meal is one of the few good things to exist in this miserable world."

"Oh, so the diet's over, then?" his sister chucked dryly, "I sure hope so. You were _so_ much more fun back when you were a porky buffoon." Her brother's face grew red with what she imagined was anger. She smiled: anger was one of favorites to observe. It was almost as fun as fear.

"I have a few treats, as a gift for your _special_ day," Mycroft interrupted her train of thought coolly, "After all; it isn't every day that one turns fifteen, is it?" Eurus furrowed her brow at this ridiculous statement.

"Of course it isn't," she countered blankly, "It's only one day, obviously." Mycroft stared back at her with an expression that would be impossible to read, even for somebody who was good at that sort of thing.

"Yes, quite."

With the grace of someone used to such a movement, the eldest Holmes reached his hand into the interior pocket of his suit jacket, gently pulling out a small, folded envelope, and extending it forward, through the small hatch that was designated for transferring items to the prisoner. Eurus peered up curiously, making her way over to the small door to retrieve the folded paper.

"The rest will come later," Mycroft assured her, "For now, I hope you will find some measure of amusement in this first gift." Eurus dragged a finger across the creases of the paper, digging her shortly-trimmed nails under the secured flap. With unnecessary care, she tore open the envelope and pulled from its ripped tab an array of glossy square cards. Her icy eyes scanned each card carefully, almost softening at the images printed on each of them.

"Ah, you brought my favorite to visit!" Eurus replied, her flat voice subtly peppered with excitement. She smiled faintly as she studied the photographs of a scrawny teenaged boy, always grimacing and wearing his shocking blue eyes and his mop of coffee-colored curls atop his head. "I see he hasn't hit his growth spurt yet. Though I suppose the Holmes boys are late bloomers: if you call what you did 'blooming.'" Mycroft rolled his eyes. He was never sure whether his sister meant to offend, or if it just came as a natural proclivity to the 'era-defining genius.' Though he supposed it would be foolish to pretend that he or Sherlock didn't do the same thing.

"I'm sure he would be delighted to hear," the eldest Holmes haughtily replied, folding his arms to his chest again.

"Still pretending I don't exist, then?" Eurus queried plainly, raising an eyebrow to her older brother, "Still protecting precious Sherlock from his evil-genius sister? When exactly will I get to see the silly pirate again, anyway?"

At this, Mycroft suddenly grew angry again. He stepped a mere foot from the glass; it wasn't like _this_ brother to break rules. She must've struck a nerve.

" _Never_ , Eurus," he growled through the glass, meeting her eyes with more intensity than she had seen from him for a while, "After what you did, after all we've told you, you still thought you might see him again? You must be joking, dear sister. You have no idea the damage you've caused in him. The least I can do is make sure he never knows, either. You will simply have to live with the fact that Sherlock will never again be aware of your existence."

The pale, scrawny teenaged girl smiled, lifting a beautiful violin and tucking it beneath her sharp jaw before she truly processed her brother's words. Lifting her gaze to meet his, she let her smile grow wider, and develop into a dry, contemptuous cackle.

"We'll see."

And without another word, she began to work her bow across the instrument's strings, walking towards the back corner of her cell to sit alone for the rest of the day. Mycroft sighed, treading softly from the room without knowing when he'd see her again. He almost hoped he wouldn't.


	2. Chapter 2

A tall man, aged only twenty-six, with expensive clothes sheathing an already developing gut, studied the glimmer of his reflection in the glass before him. Behind the clear wall, as she had been for so many years, his eighteen year old sister held a small brush between dexterous fingers. She was far too thin, which was normally the case whenever he'd visit, and she had tied her now long, brunette hair into a flyaway ponytail behind her head. Her eyes fidgeted slightly with each gentle stroke of her brush against the canvas, paying her brother almost no mind as she worked. Manifested on the surface before her was a machine soaring inelegantly through the air, burning, becoming liquescent and swallowed by billowing and colorful clouds.

"An artist too, now, are we?" the young man broke the silence, admiring his sister's handiwork, "And one whose style is rather reminiscent of Dali, what with the melting appearance you've given it. Really, it's quite fascinating. Is that an airplane, sister mine?" Eurus stopped the gliding of her brush, lowering her arm slowly and peering over her shoulder to acknowledge her brother for the first time.

"Anyone could be an artist, Mycroft," she explained flatly, waltzing towards him with blue eyes narrowing, "Most people simply lack the small levels of discipline necessary to learn."

"What makes you say that?" he asked curiously, not necessarily disagreeing. He simply found himself wondering, as he often did here in Sherrinford, how his sister could have possibly grown so perceptive of other people.

"Experience with humans, dear brother," she remarked plainly, returning to her work as she rambled, "I still have those, you know, from time to time. Anyway, your eating habits alone were enough to prove to me that even the brightest of the brutes still lacks a basic amount of self-control." She didn't appear self-satisfied. She simply felt that she was stating a fact. This manner of speaking was certainly not uncommon for the Holmes children but, nevertheless, the aside led Mycroft to exhale in deep annoyance.

"Yes, I suppose that's enough exchange of familial pleasantries for today," he replied in a lofty sarcasm, "Allow me to explain the real reason that I am here." As he began to elaborate, Eurus cut him off with a quick shake of the head, her long ponytail swaying in the breeze behind her.

"Oh, you needn't bother. Circumstances like these explain themselves, don't they?" she reasoned, gesturing to her surroundings, "You visit unannounced, on an unusual day in the middle of the week. I know that the British Government doesn't take holidays and all, but on a day like this, you should be especially up to your nose with important things to do." She folded her arms arrogantly, keenly aware that Mycroft was expecting something from her. He was always expecting something from her, obviously. Why else would he be here? "You want me to map out more attacks for you, correct? I, of course, would be delighted, as they say. Just as long as I get my treats." The young man nodded back in understanding.

"Yes, I figured as much," he replied dryly, "They'll be along shortly."

As Eurus glanced almost dismissively over her older brother, something in his demeanor caught her off guard. She was sure she had seen this before: the flared nostrils, the twitching in his features, the depth in his eyes and the furrow stitched permanently in his brow. It wasn't like confident, firm, commanding Mycroft to have his hands in his pockets, or his eyes cast downward in this sort of situation.

"Do I detect distress, dear brother?" she asked in genuine fascination, "Unless this is how you express contentment, nowadays? I really wish you'd make it simpler for me." Mycroft smiled haughtily at her believed insightfulness, occupying the space around him in a self-important saunter.

"That would be a pointless endeavor, I'm afraid," he replied, avoiding her gaze again, as if she were a chair or a lamp or an old book, "Why bother with proper communication of emotions to someone who couldn't possibly hope to understand, or care?" His tone was matter-of-fact, but there was something sinister biting its way into his words. With a moment's consideration, she instantly knew what it was that was bothering him. Despite the lengthy justifications he'd make denying it, there was one thing that could spark emotions that normally lied dormant in her elder brother.

"You're wrong. I do care about _Sherlock_ ," she countered, watching excitedly as her brother seemed both impressed and ill at ease by her deduction, "He was great fun, certainly more than you've ever been. It's quite a shame, him falling back into the drugs. That's what this look means, isn't it? Did I get it right?" At her question, Mycroft's discomfort quickly shifted into something pricklier.

"I do wish the state of our brother's health were more than just a guessing game to you," he growled, irritably staring back at her now. She didn't mind the anger; she was simply delighted that he was meeting her eye for the first time in their exchange.

"Why? It's not as if anything's at stake," she reasoned, "What's a few more brain cells gone from his already limited supply?" In what she saw as an interesting twist, her brother's face was now burning crimson. He accosted the glass wall, appearing as though he may try and punch his way through it. Even the Ice Man wasn't above resorting to violence in moments of anger, she noted with a smirk.

"His _life_ is at stake, you android," he raged through clenched teeth, maintaining a small amount of composure, but betrayed by the rushing blood in his face and fisted hands. Eurus nearly cackled at his ignorance, or at best, his shortsightedness.

"Oh Mycroft, no one gets out alive. Surely you've figured that much out by now," she replied with a roll of her eyes, "At least dear Sherlock can spend the short time we have on this planet doing something that eases his pain. Isn't that what they do, drugs? Ease a person's pain?" Mycroft suddenly began to swallow his anger, peering solemnly at the ground as he spoke.

"And cause a great deal more," he replied gravely, ensnared by horrible recollections. He looked back at his sister, who though, in her expression, asked for no reassurance, would receive it anyway.

"He's in hospital again, hopefully for the last time," the eldest Holmes explained coolly, "I mean, after the stunt he pulled at the London Zoo…" Eurus laughed at a statement that Mycroft could not have found less funny. She then shook her head and sighed, sliding her brush once more against the crowded canvas.

"How splendid it must feel for you, Mycroft," she smiled, considering the idea more for herself than for him, "To be the only one who isn't a disappointment." Silence hung between them once more, the grave stare lingering in her brother's beady eyes.

"Well it certainly is quite the responsibility," he answered back softly, still lost in thought. Eurus showed no remorse at interrupting.

"Yes, well, if it's all the same to you, I'd like to move on and get this over with," she blurted callously, "I'm growing rather tired of conversation over the prodigal son." At her words, Mycroft raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"Strange, you usually want me to go on and on about Sherlock," he commented, his outwardly emotionless gaze lined in suspicion and resentment, "Particularly during those times when he's suffering." Eurus shrugged, again directing her attention entirely to her masterpiece.

"It seems a bit unnecessary, doesn't it?" she reasoned in a cold and lofty drone, "Discussing a person I'll never meet." Mycroft thought he caught a brief glimmer in his sister's eyes, a _longing_ , but it quickly disappeared back into the depths from which it emerged.

"Don't tell me that this pains you, dear sister," he replied in a voice that was the most caring that he could achieve. It instead, came off as particularly condescending to Eurus.

"I don't know pain," she declared, perplexed as to why she needed to remind her brother of this fact, "It's becoming quite boring, is all. It's like reading about a character in a storybook: simply an unbelievable waste of time." Mycroft, realization washing over his face, suddenly grasped that he would have to explain something quite simple to a person more intelligent than any other he had yet to encounter.

"Many read to experience emotional connection, Eurus," he explained, overwhelmed with pride that there was something left he could still teach his sister, "They become invested because the protagonist is like them, causing the readers to be keenly devoted to his or her triumph."

Eurus did not seem to understand, or else she simply did not react to his words. She peered back at him blankly, but defiantly, yet somewhere twisted in there, she was completely lost.

"There is nobody like me, Mycroft."

Silence filled the room again. Empty reassurances threatened to escape the eldest Holmes's lips, but he knew that there were no words of comfort to offer that would be true.

"I think it's time that we get started."


End file.
